


a break from the weight of the world

by flowermasters



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (2012)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Femdom, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 15:27:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowermasters/pseuds/flowermasters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New York City needs Peter; Peter needs Gwen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a break from the weight of the world

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched TASM today, and I had a hankering to write Gwen/Peter. So here we are. This is set post-movie, and the title is inspired by a line from 'The Ringing In My Ear' by Adam Pascal.

Gwen wakes up to tapping at the window.

It's a quiet, polite tapping, but nevertheless insistent. She rolls over in bed and opens bleary eyes, which she reaches up to rub at with the heel of her hand. Peter's crouching form on the fire escape is backlit by moonlight and the flickering, multicolored lights of New York City. She tosses a quick glance at the digital clock on her desk – it's one o'clock in the morning – before pushing back her sheets and getting out of bed. Barefoot, she shuffles over to the window, and slides it open for him – slowly, so as not to make any more noise than she can help.

She takes a step back to let him in, and he gingerly clambers into her room, and lands on his feet without even a thud – superhuman agility and stealth abilities really help when sneaking your boyfriend in and out of your room. He's mask-less, and offers her a weak smile. She can't bring herself to smile back – she's too busy looking at all the blood on his face. Either the mask is ripped to shreds, or someone – perhaps  _something_  – managed to get it off. She doesn't want to know all the gory details; frankly, they make her worry even worse than she already does. She just wants to take care of him, and she knows that's why he's here.

Peter comes to her like this whenever he has a particularly rough night – he flatly refuses to go to the hospital, because there's a very real possibility that he could be exposed if he does. So he comes to Gwen, more for comfort than for actual medical care. There's not much she can do for him, after all, other than clean him up and make him feel better. He heals unnaturally fast, anyway; by dawn, the bloody wounds on his face will look weeks old. The world does not get to see Spiderman like this, covered in bruises and blood – only Gwen does. It's a privilege that often scares her, but she wouldn't have it any other way.

She reaches up and gently grips his upper arm. "Come on," she murmurs, as she guides him to the bed. "Cop a squat, bug boy."

Humor always helps Peter when he's like this – when he's been running hot for a while, he needs something to keep him from crashing, and laughter usually does that. For a while, at least. He chuckles softly, and crosses the room to Gwen's bed. Gwen notes the way he winces as he sits down, and figures he's probably got some pulled muscles, or bruises hiding underneath his suit. "How bad is it?" she asks quietly, concern leaking into her tone.

"Not too bad," he responds, his voice ragged and hoarse. "Nothing that won't be gone soon."

Of course. He fights a new criminal every week, and his wounds from the last are always healed by the time the next one comes along. She can't help but wonder what will happen if he ever gets an injury that just won't go away – one that even he can't bounce back from. It's a troubling thought, one that she doesn't like to dwell on. She'd go crazy if she did.

"Okay," she says. "Be right back."

He nods once, and she leaves the room quietly, careful to shut the door behind her. The last thing she needs is for her mother or one of her brothers to walk past her room and see someone definitely-not-Gwen sitting on her bed in the middle of the night. Not too long ago, Gwen's mother had woken up and noticed that Gwen's light was on in the middle of the night; Peter had disappeared into Gwen's closet only seconds before the door opened. Gwen had been able to lie her way out of it that time – all she'd had to do was pull the "I miss Dad" card, and her mother had believed her 'insomnia' excuse hook, line, and sinker – but Gwen didn't want to chance something like that again.

Gwen goes to the kitchen, and retrieves a bottle of water from the fridge. She grabs a granola bar from the pantry, too – one of the fake-healthy kinds, the ones drizzled with chocolate and peanut butter. Peter's fond of them, and she always feeds him when he comes to her room in the middle of the night. It helps him keep his energy up after a long day saving New York City, and so it's become an important part of her aftercare routine.

She returns to her room and gives him the water and the snack, and watches for a few seconds while he takes a long, continuous sip of water – nearly half the bottle in one go – and then starts nibbling at the granola bar. She slips out of her room again, and pads slowly down the hall to the linen closet. She takes out a small hand-towel, shuts the closet door softly behind her, goes to the nearby bathroom, and wets the rag with cool water before returning to her room.

She kneels on the floor in front of him and wipes the blood from his face. The cuts, she learns, are thanks to a mutant with retractable claws, whom Peter chased for six blocks before she escaped. She didn't go without clawing his face, though – luckily, he'd been able to recoil before she sunk them deep into his skin, but he'd fallen several stories before managing to catch himself, and by the time he regained his bearings, she was gone. But he's not even particularly upset about how close he came to getting his face ripped off, or how narrowly he avoided falling to his death – he's too disappointed in himself for not catching her to care about his wounds. His dedication is as admirable as it is insane, Gwen thinks with a small smile.

Peter notices her expression, and the corners of his lips twitch up into a smile, too. "What?" he asks, as she dabs at his jaw with the towel, which is now more red than white.

"Nothing," she says. "Just wondering how I ended up with someone so noble."

"I'm not noble," Peter protests, still smiling. "Just a little miffed that I risked my face and still didn't catch her."

"Yes, your pretty face," Gwen teases, wiping off a bit of dried blood near his nose. "A  _noble_  sacrifice."

"Shut up," he says good-naturedly, following her hand as it moves away and brushing his lips lightly over her fingers. That sends a little tingle through her, and she lets go of the towel, which falls to his lap. She moves her hand to cup his jaw gently, carefully avoiding the claw marks, which start at his temple and end just below his ear.

For a moment, she simply holds his gaze. Finally, though, she speaks. "You'll get her next time," she says, her tone gentler than before. "You always do, Peter."

His smile fades slightly, replaced by a more vulnerable expression. Spiderman may not suffer from self-doubt, but Peter Parker does. "I – I know," he says. "But I . . . sometimes it doesn't feel like I can. It's –  _hard_. Always saving the day, I mean."

"I know," Gwen says, and she does. She knows Peter more intimately than she knows anyone else, and she knows how hard his job is, how much pressure it puts on him. But this is the hand he's been dealt, and he's doing what he feels is right – he's helping other people. At the end of the day, she knows that he thinks being Spiderman is worth the stress. And though she worries for him, she's also fiercely proud of him. She loves him, and she believes in him.

He shifts his head so that he can nuzzle her hand. Chocolate brown eyes meet hers again, and she sees a subtle shift in his expression. His vulnerability turns into something a little less shy, but still a bit needy.  _Ah_. So it's going to be one of  _those_  nights.

"Gwen," he murmurs against the skin of her palm. She resists the urge to shiver. He's still looking at her, doe-eyed, and she knows exactly what he needs to restore his confidence.

"Okay," she whispers back, nodding. She moves her hand then, and leans in to kiss him. It's definitely going to be one of those nights, judging by the eager way he returns her kiss. Sometimes, when Peter's had a particularly rough day, when he's tired and sore and losing faith in himself, he just needs  _Gwen_. He doesn't need her to take care of his wounds, but instead to take care of  _him_. He needs her love; he needs her to be close to him. He needs her to take control, to possess him, to make him forget the day's struggles. The knowledge that she loves him so completely, even when he finds himself lacking, bolsters his resolve to soldier on. She understands, and she's more than willing to give him what he needs.

She takes it slow, even though she knows it frustrates him to take it easy when he wants her like this. But it's better when he's desperate for her – not just better for him, but for her, too. She can't deny how she relishes it when he whispers brokenly against her mouth, " _Gwen_  . . ." and tries to pull her up into his lap.

She moves, but not into his lap like he urges. Instead, she pulls away from his mouth slowly and then rises to her feet. Like this, she towers over him, and he looks up at her with worship in his eyes. Heat runs through her, and she lets it show in her expression, knowing how it will affect him. She reaches out and runs gentle fingers through his hair, then whispers, "On the floor, Peter."

He slides off the bed, the slick material of the suit making a faint rustling noise against the sheets. He looks up at her for further instruction, but she merely says, "Like that. On your knees." She then sidesteps him, moving to sit on the edge of the bed next to the space he left behind.

They kiss for a little while – the only thing different is that their positions are now reversed. She lets him palm her breasts, but only after he's shucked the top half of the suit so that she can feel his hands, rather than his gloves. He flicks a nipple through her shirt, and she exhales shakily against his jaw. She bites his earlobe lightly, and now it's his turn to quiver. He wants to go further, she knows, but she's going to draw it out. Gwen's going to go as slow as she can stand to, slow enough that he's willing to do anything for her before it's over. Making Peter break is the first step; after that, he can feel whole again.

After a few moments, he starts pushing up her shirt, wanting to get his mouth on her skin. She allows it for a moment, savoring the contact, but then she gently grips his hair and pulls his head away. "Gwen," he says, looking up at her with a plea in his eyes. She can't help but give him what he needs, not when he looks at her like that.

She lets go of his hair, and leans back on the bed, spreading her legs wider as she does so. He quickly crowds into the space between her knees, and she lifts up her head to give him a smile, wordlessly granting him permission to proceed. His hands are at the drawstring of her pajama pants a second later, and he unties the knot with nimble fingers. She lifts her hips, and he tugs the pants down, taking her panties with them.

She kicks off the clothing leisurely, and then reaches up to wind her fingers through his hair again. Gwen guides him to where she wants him, and he goes with a soft moan. She bites her lower lip as he nuzzles her inner thigh for a few seconds, his breath hot against her skin. He doesn't waste much time, though. Moments later, he's gently licking at her, one hand creeping up between her legs so that he can slide two fingers into her.

This is something he's learned how to do well in the months they've been together – which isn't surprising. Peter Parker is a quick learner and an excellent pupil, no doubt about it. He uses his tongue on her clit, with just the right amount of pressure. Meanwhile, his fingers are pumping smoothly, and when he crooks them ever so slightly, her thighs jump on either side of his head and she barely holds back a cry. His other hand is wrapped gently around her leg, fingers absently rubbing the sensitive skin on the back of her knee. It's good, so good, and Gwen holds back her noises, but only as much as she has to. Mostly she gasps out his name, both because what he's doing feels good and because she knows how much he likes to hear his name. It reminds him that he's hers and she's his – it soothes him, heals him, strengthens him to hear her praising him like this.

She tightens her grip on his hair, and whispers, "Peter, oh –  _Peter_." And then her thighs tense and she comes, shivering and gritting her teeth to hold back any stray moans or cries. He stops licking, because he's learned that sometimes it's just too much, but his fingers are still inside of her, giving her something to clench around. After a moment, she releases her death grip on his hair and takes a slow, steadying breath.

"Gwen," he whispers, desperate. "Gwen, please."

She sits up slowly, her muscles loose and her posture relaxed. Gwen smiles at him, gentle, and moves her hand between her legs, gripping his wrist and tugging his hand away slowly. She can see where he's hard in his pants, but the fabric of the suit is not forgiving; he can't be at all comfortable. She murmurs, "Pants off."

Gwen doesn't have to tell him twice; he's got the rest of the suit off in a hot second. She slides down to the floor next to him, her knees bumping against his as she goes. She wraps her palm around him and presses her mouth to his to muffle his moan. It doesn't take him long at all to get off, but she makes every second of it count. She ravishes his mouth, savoring the way her taste lingers on his lips. With her free hand, she gently grips the back of his neck, anchoring him to her, reminding him that he is loved and cared for. He comes hard, shuddering against her, and she smiles against his mouth.

They simply kneel there for a moment, him panting and her gently stroking the back of his neck. Her other hand is quite sticky, though, so she releases her grip on him and stands, moving with slightly shaky legs to her desk. She wipes her hand with several tissues and then turns back to him. He's smiling at her, and she remembers that she's still naked from the waist down.

"The window's still open," she abruptly realizes, eyes widening slightly.

He chuckles. "It's dark."

She grins, and holds out a hand to help him to his feet. "You never know when someone might come crawling through the window, though."

"It's twenty stories up," he points out jokingly. He doesn't say it, but she can see the gratitude in his eyes. He doesn't have to say thank you. She knows what he means, even if he doesn't come right out with it.

"But you seem to make it in here an awful lot," she says, still smiling as she puts her underwear and pants back on.

"Wonder why that is," Peter plays along, as he slowly puts the suit back on. She can tell he's still sore, but all the aches and pains will be gone in the morning. She's given him some TLC, and now his body will have to do the rest.

"Because you need me, bug boy," she says. Peter grins and doesn't argue with her logic, then kisses her one last time before putting the tattered mask back on.

"I love you," he says, once he's out on the fire escape. She hears everything he doesn't say:  _thank you for putting me back together every night. Thank you for being here for me._ She smiles, letting him know that she understands, and that she'll always take care of him, so that he can take care of the city he's promised to protect.

"I love you, too," she says, and she watches at the window as Spiderman disappears into the night.


End file.
